Solo
by DarthGabithaTheHutt
Summary: A friend's first solo hunt makes Dean think more than he'd like. Preseries, no pairings. One shot. Chapter 2 up and now complete.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: A friend's first solo hunt makes Dean think more than he'd like. Pre-series, no pairings.

As always, this story contains Sara Lucian, a character who appears in several of my Supernatural stories. She is a friend of Dean's who specilises in exorcisms. This is set pre-So Cold, so there's goes my lovely plan to post these stories in chronological order.

xxx  
Nebraska,  
March, 2000

Dean leant back in his chair, the information on the computer screen in front of him taunting him with his inability to find the damn link between the victims. Five freaky deaths, three men, two woman, all different jobs, all from different places and no apparent connection except for the fact that all had been found with their throats slit and hearts missing. The bodies had been found exactly four days apart from one another, which meant the Winchesters had exactly three days to solve this or there would be another victim.

He reached over and punched Sammy lightly on the shoulder. "You find anything?"

"A whole new level of frustration," his little brother replied, staring at his own computer screen. "There's nothing. Whatever's happening here, it seems pretty random to me."

"Well, you know what Dad says. There's always a pattern, Sammy."

"And there's always an exception to every rule," Sammy retorted.

Dean rolled his eyes. Although a phrase was not an open declaration of war, it was the sort of fire-starter that irritated the hell out of their father. "Yeah, whatever."

Sammy bit his lip, thinking carefully. "Hang on," he murmured, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"What?" Dean asked. Sammy could say all the snippy comments he liked if he just got Dean out of this library before Dean went completely cuckoo. "What are you looking at?"

"Tax records."

"Tax records?"

"Well, they're just about the only thing we haven't looked at."

"Yeah, well, I'll leave you to it, geek boy." Dean shoved his chair back and headed for the exit. A ten minute break wouldn't hurt anyone, least of all Dean.

He managed to get his hands on some coffee and drank it as he wandered around their latest glamorous location. When his phone rang, Dean answered immediately. John Winchester was out chasing leads and had promised to call the moment he had any more information.

"Dad?"

"I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted," came the reply.

Dean grinned. "Hey, Sara. How've you been?"

"Oh, pretty good. Guess where I am."

"Wisconsin?"

"Nope."

"Canada?"

"No."

"Wales?"

That got him a laugh. "Do you even know where Wales is?"

"So where are you then?" he asked, ignoring the question entirely.

"Fort Hammond, Iowa," Sara said. He could almost hear her bouncing with excitement.

"Hang on," he said as memory flicked a card. "Isn't there a haunting going on there?"

"First solo hunt," she said. "With, if you believe it, Mum's permission!"

"You're kidding me."

"No, seriously, she actually _gave_ me this case. I think your Dad must've said something to her, 'cause we all know what she thinks of me hunting."

"What is it?"

"A load of teenagers have been killed here over the last thirty years. It's a ghost, a pretty nasty one. Some guy named Jefferson, he was a cop who committed suicide after a teenage gang killed his wife."

"And all of the victims had a few brushes with the law?"

"Yep. All of them had a criminal record and were Latino seventeen-year-old males. Which, you know, kinda excludes me on every count."

"Good. You never walk into a hunt if you fit the victim profile. It's just asking for trouble." He paused as a thought hit him. "You don't have a criminal record?"

"Course not. I'm a sweet, innocent English rose, remember?"

"With far too many thorns."

"Thank you."

"Anyway, what's the problem?"

Sara sighed. "It's not so much a problem as a setback. The cop was cremated, but I know it's him."

"Well, that means haunted object, or some human remains somewhere. Where did all the victims die?"

"Uh, in a house just outside of town, up in the attic."

"And how did they die?"

"All beaten to death with, and I quote, 'a large wooden object'. Dean, you know how ghost sometimes haunt where they died?"

"Yeah?"

"Can they haunt, well, the thing they killed themselves with?"

"Uh, Dad dealt with a haunted sword a few years back. Why?"

"Okay, I know this sounds sort of, well, crazy, but the cop hung himself from this old oak tree, which was later cut down and made into a wardrobe or something. The deaths started at about the same time."

"A haunted tree?"

"Why not? Anyway, I'm heading out to the house tonight, see if I can find something made of oak in the attic. Unless you want to tell me that I'm barking up completely the wrong tree. No pun intended."

"Anything's possible. Call me when you're done?"

"Deal."

Dean stuffed the phone back into his pocket and turned back to the library.

So, little Sara was finally hunting. It was about time, really. And that did sound like a good hunt for her to start out with, a nice, simple salt-and-burn. But still...

He was still trying to decide whether he was actually happy about this or not when Sammy produced the link between the victims and when his dad made plans to track the demon, as it turned out to be, through most of the woodland in the entire state.

"Dean, what did I just say?" John demanded finally.

"That this demon's more slippery than a greased weasel and we're going to have just one night to kill the damn thing before some well meaning idiot from the National Wildlife Service tries something really stupid," Dean rattled back to his father. It was a long time since he'd been caught not paying attention.

John suppressed a smile. He wasn't sure when Dean had learnt to memorize what he was being told even when he clearly wasn't actually listening, but the completely false look of innocence in his eyes was the same one he'd had as a young child, snaffling extra cookies.

"She'll be fine, you know," John said. "It was long past time she started working on her own."

"Yeah, I know," Dean replied, but he felt uneasy. He'd done a few hunts alone, sure, but Sara was only eighteen. How long before it was Sammy's turn to work solo?

xxx

It was late, almost early really, when Sara called again. Dean grabbed his phone and ducked out of the cheap motel room, trying hard not to wake his sleeping family. Perching on the hood of the Impala, he pressed the phone against his ear.

"Sara? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Her voice was tired, but it didn't sound like she was upset or hurt. "Our ghost is now one nicely crispy critter."

Something in his chest loosened with the words. "Congratulations. What was he haunting?"

"A broken rocking horse, of all things. Really ugly one, as well, all manic eyes and huge teeth."

Dean couldn't help it. The idea of a haunted rocking horse was just too much and he cracked up, trying to make as little noise as possible.

"It's not funny, Dean! Damn thing nearly skewered me."

"Come on," he managed to choke out. "It is a little funny."

He could almost see the exasperated expression on her face, and he could definitely hear the smile in her voice when she spoke again.

"Why is it that no one ever warned me about killer rocking horses?" she asked.

"Well, there are some things you just have to learn for yourself. You sure you're ok?"

"Yeah, I'm good, Dean. Promise."

"Good." He shifted slightly. "So, what's next? Haunted doll's house?"

Sara's retort was lost in giggles. After a few more minutes of idle chatter, Dean said goodnight and ended the call. He slipped back into the motel room, frozen bare feet reminding him of how long he'd been sitting on an equally cold car. Dean made his way across the room and into bed silently, and it wasn't until he was settled that John spoke.

"I take it Sara's alright."

"Yeah, Dad, she's ok."

Dean could never work out if his dad actually liked Sara. From what he had said, John had known Sara longer than Dean had, and Hunters did watch out for each other. They were a small group, with bizarre alliances and friendships, but sometimes even the best of them needed back up. Pastor Jim watched his scarred, battered 'flock' with as much care as his congregation, Caleb manipulated connections and risked arrest almost daily to keep them supplied with weapons and ammo. Even Amelia Lucian, one of the most disconnected women he had ever met, wouldn't hesitate of one of her extended 'family' was in danger.

And, of course, Dean was no different. From high-school bullies to mythological monsters, if it threatened someone dear to him, it was going down. Hard. His default setting was 'protect'. What was it Sara had said once? _Dean's a nice guy with protective instincts to spare. _It wasn't hard; he could count the things he considered worth protecting on one hand. Sammy, his father, his life as a hunter and the Impala. And now Sara was on the list, and that was alright by Dean.

Turning over to get comfortable, hearing Sammy's soft murmurs in his sleep, Dean found a part of him wishing Sara didn't have to deal with the supernatural crap that life seemed to love throwing at them. But another part of him, a part that he was ashamed of, was so glad that she did, because at least it meant that neither of them had to deal with it on their own.

"Dean, if you don't stop tossing and turning, I'll make you sleep in the car," John threatened.

Dean grinned to himself and rolled over one last time before falling asleep.

xxx  
Reviews are loved. Would you guys like to see a short piece about Sara's first solo exorcism as well? Let me know...


	2. Chapter 2

April 2001,

Sara Lucian made it back to the motel room before the fallout hit, but only just.

Almost a year of low-level exorcisms had introduced Sara to the physical cost of performing exorcisms. As her mother said, there was always a price to using such powerful forces as were invoked in even a basic exorcism. And that demon had been at least a fifth level.

She kicked the thin door shut behind her, wincing as the slam jarred her sore head, and fought a wave of dizziness.

Headaches, dizziness, nausea and feeling battered all over were to be expected. Although there was ways to circumvent the fallout, it wasn't advised. Better to pay the debt off as soon as possible than to let it accumulate past what you could afford. But it did mean that for every exorcism, the exorcist would have to spend two or three days weak, helpless and downright useless.

The fallout moved through dizziness as Sara made her unsteady way into the bathroom and she was ready when nausea hit full force. As she threw up her meagre lunch, acid burning the back of her throat, she couldn't help but think,

_My first real solo exorcism, and I celebrate like this? _

Mind you, exorcisms were very different to hunts, as different as a Winchester to a Lucian. Sara's first solo hunt, a year before, had resulted in a couple of exuberant phone calls to Dean and even John Winchester had given her some gruff praise.

_"We have to know if you can work alone," her mother had said. "So don't call Dean or any other Hunters, not until you complete the exorcism." _

_"What about afterwards?" she had asked. Her mother's dislike of Sara relying on Dean for anything was well known. Normally, they just agreed to disagree and avoided talking about it. But this wasn't about Dean or hunting. This was about being a Lucian, and Sara did respect her mother where that was concerned. _

_"See if you still want to," Amelia Lucian had said. _

And that was the problem, wasn't it? Two years of study had started to undo the image of Amelia Lucian that Sara had had for all these years, an image of an unnecessarily harsh woman who saw no need for human contact. After only a few exorcisms, Sara was beginning to understand why.

It hurt. More than the sickness or the weariness of the fallout, exorcisms hurt. Somewhere deep inside, something was screaming, scared and begging for it to stop. Because an exorcist wasn't a saviour, Sara was realising. Most of the rituals and methods had been established in the Middle Ages, when saving the host's life wasn't the most important factor. Saving the soul was, and the result was a system that got the demon out ninety-nine times out of a hundred, but only saved the host's life maybe seventy times. Three out of ten hosts died in the ritual itself, which didn't include those whose bodies had been too damaged by the demon to survive or those who later took their own lives, being incapable of living with the memories of what 'they' had done under the demonic influence – and there were more of those that Sara had realised.

Most cultures and religions had a healthy fear of demonic possession, and rightly so. Without exorcists, demons would remain in their hosts for years, doing untold damage before getting bored and moving onto a new host. Whilst it was possible to leave a host voluntarily without killing them, few demons bothered. If people like the Lucians hadn't started to fight back, the demons would kill the host and who knew how many other people as well. There were precious few ways to rid a human of their demonic possession, and absolutely no way to kill the possessing demon that Sara knew of. The demon could keep its meat-puppet walking and talking when really they should be dead, mostly by diverting any pain from injuries straight to the human mind. But making it uncomfortable enough for the demon, it was possible to drive it out. Without exorcising it, though, the main way of doing that was to burn the host alive. They'd done that once or twice in the Middle Ages as well.

So the rituals were the only way to go. They weren't perfect, but they would have to do. Even if they made Sara feel filthy and inhuman.

_Maybe that was why the Lucians didn't fight the fallout_, she thought as she started to throw up bile, her stomach empty of anything else. _Because we deserve to suffer for what we do. _

It must have been easier for the others, though. Most Lucians seemed to have been almost fanatical about their belief in God and doing His work. It might have been better to do such work firmly believing that those hosts who didn't survive would make it to the Pearly Gates and have some sort of compensation.

But she just saw the pain and death.

When the nausea finally passed, Sara leant back against the wall and tried to stop the tears running down her face. Somehow, she got back to her feet and made it back to the main room and all the comfort a motel bed could offer. Pulling off her jacket and shoes gave her another dizzy spell, and she sat very still with her eyes closed until it had passed.

Finally, she could curl up on the bed, head and body throbbing. Reaching out with a shaking hand, she fished her phone out of her jacket pocket. Making her fingers work well enough to scroll through the numbers and select the right one took far longer than she would've liked, but she was too tired and sore to care. At last, the phone screen showed the right number.

_Dean's Mobile _

_Call _

_Back _

Her thumb hovered over the call button for a long moment, then the back button, then the call button once again.

_"See if you still want to." _

Oh, God, she wanted to call him so badly. To have some reassurance that she was doing the right thing, that this was all worth it. That she wasn't a killer.

But what the hell could he say to her? How could she even explain it to him?

Hunters and exorcists had very little in common. And although Sara did hunt, she was an exorcist first and foremost. That was what she had fought for, what she was born to do – literally. If her grandmother hadn't been so insistent on continuing the family line, Sara doubted Amelia would ever have become a mother. She just wasn't particularly maternal, although that wasn't really a prerequisite for a Lucian. Whilst Dean was a good friend, an excellent friend, and one that Sara wasn't about to give up, she knew that to a certain degree her mother was right. Hunters and exorcists did not mix, they never had. At one point, exorcists had spent more time fleeing Hunters, who saw no difference between them and witches, than they did fighting evil. The success of such hunts accounted for the lack of exorcists today. Even Amelia was very careful about which Hunters she associated with, and had been even more careful to keep Sara out of the sight of any Hunter she had the slightest misgiving about. It said a lot about her opinion of John Winchester that she had never even tried to keep him away from Sara. The same went for Dean, of course. He would never hunt her, Sara knew. But maybe he couldn't help her either.

She could never manage to explain what she feeling at that point. She didn't understand it herself. But there was one thing she did know – she wanted to call Dean. So, so badly. It was a choice. Exorcist or Hunter. Lucian or Sara. What she was and what she wanted to be.

Sara pressed the _call _button.

Dean picked up on the third ring, just before Sara worked up the nerve to hang up again. "Hey, Sara," he said.

"Is this a bad time?" she asked.

There was a slight second pause before Dean answered. In all the time they'd known each other, that was one question that had never come up. It was always a good time, unless one of them was actively hunting something in which case the phone was off. Simple as that.

"Just about to call you myself," Dean said easily. "Bored out of my mind here. I graduated four years ago and I still have to hang around outside high schools."

"Sasquatch working hard as usual?"

"Even worse. He's joined the Drama Club."

"Huh?"

"I know. And, weirdest of all, Dad hasn't said a word. Just makes me pick him up every day and the stinking rehearsals _always _overrun."

"Thought drama chicks were meant to be hot."

"Also jailbait. But you should see Sammy, I mean, it's just some high-school version of _Our Town, _you know, and he's getting so worked up-"

And Dean was off. Responding to a need Sara hadn't even dared voiced, he talked on about this and that, neither expecting nor asking for any great input from Sara. She could curl up, phone held close to her ear, and let Dean's inane chatter comfort her. That it did comfort her, way more than she had dared hope, wouldn't worry her until the fallout was over and her normal clear-headed resilience reared its head once more.

That it never occurred to her to call her mother would never worry her. There was a reason she looked so hard for family in other people, after all.

xxx

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